Ending on a HalfNote
by Redconky
Summary: What went through Hermione and Ron's minds as they danced at Bill and Fleur's wedding? Ron/Hermione romantic one-shot, cannon compliant with a couple of references to scenes in the films that I don't believe were in the books. Rated T, to be safe. Enjoy!


Ending on a Half-Note

"Come, dance," Ron had said, more as a command rather than a request.

Hermione knew Ron wouldn't have felt such an urge to hit the floor if Viktor hadn't joined them at their table. While she was initially stunned, she let him take her hand.

Hermione had always thought it was a bit funny that in the wizarding world, music was so similar to that of the muggle world. The arrangements, the sounds of the instruments, the beats – the uneducated ear wouldn't be able to distinguish what music had come from a band of wizards or witches from that of muggles, and even the educated one would only detect slight differences. She chuckled when she thought of Professor Lupin using Benny Goodman's "Sing, Sing, Sing" while he asked the students to transform boggarts to harmless images, or of Professor McGonagall having Filch get out that phonograph with the oversized flower horn to teach them how to dance. If she lives to be as old as Dumbledore, she will never get the image of a flustered Ron taking his first awkward steps at McGonagall's behest.

Ron's dance steps now, however, were miles from awkward. He'd never be mistaken for Fred Astaire, Gene Kelly or any winner from _Dancing with the Stars_, but he was holding his own. Maybe he'd been practicing before she had arrived, knowing they might have an opportunity to dance at the reception.

The tempo had changed from a waltz to something much slower. Ron stopped for a moment.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked.

"The music – it's a lot slower than I'm used to," Ron said seemingly to his shoes as he avoided Hermione's gaze.

Hermione gently put her left hand under Ron's chin so their eyes would meet.

"There's nothing to it. I'll lead this time."

"But girls aren't supposed to lead!" Ron protested in a hushed tone.

Hermione was sorely tempted to lunge into a speech about how it was the 21st century, and women had done nearly everything men had done, including orbit the earth, when she realized this might not be the best time for a history lesson.

"I won't tell," she whispered into Ron's right ear, and flashed him a smile.

The smile had silenced any comeback Ron could have mustered. He returned the smile and pulled Hermione slightly closer.

Ron noticed Hermione wasn't telling him how to dance, but silently showing him. It was a simple two-step with a bit of gentle rocking. The distance closed between them and Ron felt Hermione's head rest on his shoulder. He closed his eyes, and it felt like no one else was there. He let his head lean a little on Hermione's and thought about those old black-and-white muggle movies Hermione had shown his Dad on her laptop computer the previous summer, which always seemed to have at least one scene where the leading man and the leading lady danced like this. Many of those scenes culminated in a kiss, a notion Ron pleasantly dwelled upon until the thought occurred to him to perhaps take a cue from them.

It wouldn't have been out of the question given the prevailing mood of the setting, but if – _no_, he told himself, _when_ – he kissed her for what he hoped would be the first of many times, he wanted it to be private and not in front of God and everybody. He wanted it to be as special as possible, and not to run the risk of the likes of Fred and George taking the Mickey out of him and risking unrelenting ridicule. It was incredibly tempting, though: Hermione had never looked lovelier. Her dress revealed a bit of her bosom, but not so much that she didn't look like a lady. Her hair smelled like night-blooming jasmine – or was it honeysuckle? It didn't matter; he was as intoxicated as if he had drunk love potion. He felt Hermione draw him closer still, and hoped she hadn't detected that his pants were suddenly fitting tighter.

Hermione was lost in her own thoughts, thinking of how she didn't want to let him go, which she would have to do eventually. Rational Hermione was telling her to take deep breaths to slow her rapid heartbeat, while Emotional Hermione was telling her to look up into Ron's face, hoping he'd get the hint to kiss her, or, if need be, to take matters into her own hands. The rational part told her to proceed with caution, while the emotional part wanted her to throw caution to the wind and run her hands through his sunset-colored locks and kiss him as if it was their last moment on Earth.

They were both brought suddenly out of their reverie with an abrupt change of music, which was more appropriate for a conga than cuddling.

"My feet are getting sore, in these tight shoes," Hermione lied as she pulled away from Ron. "Is it okay if we stop for awhile?"

"Um, yeah," Ron lied in return. "I think I'll get a butterbeer. Fancy one?"

"Sure . . . with gin--"

"—ger," Ron finished as he flashed a quick grin to Hermione, and she returned it while heading for the table.

"I simply can't dance anymore," Hermione told Harry while she removed one of her shoes and rubbed the sole of her foot to sell the story she had sold Ron. She continued to talk, but her words ended with the appearance of a lynx-shaped Patronus. Kingsley Shacklebolt's voice informed the wedding guests that the Ministry of Magic had fallen, that Scrimgeour was dead and that Death Eaters were on the way.

There had been beautiful music between Ron and Hermione on that night, but it ended abruptly, as if on a half-note. Perhaps -- they each thought later without informing the other -- they could finish composing later. Little did either know how much later they'd have to wait, and how much discord they'd endure before they were again in tune.


End file.
